


got music in our solar system

by foxglovebrew



Series: when your war is over [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Culture, And Movie Night!, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Future Fic, Keith and Shiro's Space Adventures, Kosmo Runs Interference, M/M, New Year's Eve, Underage Drinking, Unsafe Hoverbike Shenanigans, Voltron Team Sleepover, background allurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-02 10:36:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17262707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxglovebrew/pseuds/foxglovebrew
Summary: “This is the SS Hestia of the Galactic Coalition, requesting passage.”The comms line crackles, and a high-pitched voice comes through, a chittering noise resolving itself through the translator into: “Permission granted, SS Hestia. Welcome to Norix and Happy Tu'krelix.”The translator really tries, but it doesn't manage with that last term. Shiro and Keith share a perplexed look. Keith shrugs, and Shiro takes that as his cue to open the line again and say, “And to you as well. Approaching now.”Written for Sheith New Year's 2019.





	1. new year's

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this is only Day 1 and I will continue to add chapters this week. However my laptop has crapped out so it might be tricky! Fingers crossed! 
> 
> As I'm trying to post once a day this is only very lightly proofread by me, and of average NaNoWriMo quality--so not my most polished.
> 
> This is a sequel to _the voice from the stars_ , as promised only yesterday. It mostly ignores s8 and Sheith are currently have space adventures together. I'm sure it can be read alone, though. 
> 
> Happy Sheith New Year's!

The thing Keith loves most about space is that he could travel every day of his life and never reach the end.

At this point, he’s been in space for—four, five years, depending on how you look at it. Space time bullshit accounted for, mostly.

And there are still so many things he has yet to see. For example, the green planet coming up ahead on their viewport.

As it comes closer, Shiro pulls up the Coalition database and looks it up.

“Planet Norix. Friendly, in talks with the Coalition to join. Atmosphere conducive to life for most carbon-based life-forms... including humans and Galra.”

“Sounds like a Class M planet for sure,” Keith says.

Shiro, beside him, grins in that pleased, bashful way he does every time Keith makes a Star Trek reference. Keith isn't ashamed to say he started making them for that express purpose. Now, things have gotten out of hand a little, and he finds himself doing it with no agenda.

They're halfway through DS9, watching an episode or two every night before bed. Keith now has a lot of material.

He also will never stop hounding Shiro to release the dirty stories about Spock and Kirk he most certainly is hiding.

“You're a bad influence,” he’ll tell Shiro every other day. “I used to be cool.”

This is completely untrue. Keith has never been cool. The look Shiro throws him tells him he knows that. He usually leans into Keith and kisses whatever part of him is within reach. Then he says, “The leather jacket couldn't fool me, babe.”

Shiro hails the planet's closest communications tower.

“This is the SS Hestia of the Galactic Coalition, requesting passage.”

It always gives Keith a little thrill to hear Shiro's voice go all deep and commanding. He also likes to hear him identify their shared ship. He's been trying not to act _completely_ soppy and ridiculous since he and Shiro took to space together, but—at least in the privacy of his mind—he can't quite help it.

The comms line crackles, and a high-pitched voice comes through, a chittering noise resolving itself through the translator into: “Permission granted, SS Hestia. Welcome to Norix and Happy Tu'krelix.”

The translator really tries, but it doesn't manage with that last term. Shiro and Keith share a perplexed look. Keith shrugs, and Shiro takes that as his cue to open the line again and say, “And to you as well. Approaching now.”

The Norixians are about twice as tall as Keith and reminiscent of multicolored praying mantises. They have huge eyes, small snapping jaws at the end of their triangular heads, and three sets of long limbs. A set of legs, a set of wicked-looking blades, and a set of prehensile arms. Keith tries not to stare too much. It’s a courtesy that’s lost on the Norixians, as they all gape openly at the two fleshy aliens stepping off the ship.

The attendants swarming the Hestia when she lands are wearing flowing blue robes, and they chatter at them cheerfully.

“Happy Tu'krelix!” seems to be a theme.

A tall purple Norixian wearing bright yellow makes a bee-line for them immediately.

“Welcome, Coalition citizens, and happy Tu'krelix!” they say. Their blades sweep out in a greeting gesture. “We're always glad to receive new guests. Please let me know if I need to adjust my translator frequency. You speak Human, yes?”

Shiro smiles his most charming, dimpled smile, and Keith is pretty sure only he can detect the edge of amusement there. He's not even sure if Norixians know how to read smiles. It's a pity. Shiro's smile is out of this world.

“Your translator picked up our frequency just fine, thank you. I'm Captain Takashi Shirogane, this is Keith Kogane, the ship's pilot.”

Keith nods at the Norixian, and they cock their head at him. Then all their limbs do a little excited shimmy.

“Oh! You're Paladins of Voltron! We have heard much about you. If we'd known, we would have prepared a ritual greeting! A feast! It is Tu'krelix after all.”

“That won't be necessary, we're not here on an official capacity,” Shiro says kindly.

Keith, a bit less diplomatically, says, “What's Tu'krelix?”

A widespread chittering from all nearby Norixians lets him know _everyone_ has been listening in the entire time.

The purple Norixian’s limbs shimmy again.

“Our translator hasn't been able to process the word,” Keith explains.

“Tu'krelix is the most important holiday on the _planet!_ ” the Norixian says. “It is to celebrate the end of this o'krel and the beginning of a new one! It is an important time to honor the past, the present, and the future, and to reflect and improve ourselves.”

“And to _party_ ,” a nearby Norixian says, probably unaware that Keith's translator is picking it up.

Keith can't help a smile, and sees Shiro do the same.

“I'm afraid you'll have to explain what an o'krel is, as well,” Shiro says, good-natured.

“It is one full revolution of Norix around our star!”

“Oh,” Keith says. He and Shiro exchange a look.

Celebrating the past, present, and future. A time for self-reflection.

It appears they've landed right on the Norixian New Year's Eve.

*

After they've refueled and recharged their water recycling system and stores, Shiro insists that they go out and... experience an authentic Tu'krelix, apparently.

“You heard that guy at the shipyard,” he says, wrapping an arm around Keith's shoulder and tucking him close to his side. “It's meant to be a _party_.”

The city is wonderful and colorful, and Shiro looks like a little kid at Christmas. He keeps nudging Keith discreetly to make him look at particularly strange and wonderful things. The shimmery sheen of the multicolored buildings, the little shops, the clothes and little quirks of the traffic system on the streets. The way Norixians are obviously able to climb and there are doors just hanging in the middle of walls on the second floor, entirely inaccessibly if you're not able to do the same.

Keith says, “Does that mean there are no windows, only doors?”

Shiro laughs into his hair, which still makes Keith's heart skip a beat every time. Will there ever be a time when Shiro's casual affection _doesn’t_ make him feel like a teenager?

Shiro smiles down at him, in the street crowded with tall, sentient bugs, and the dimples at the corners of his mouth are so absolutely kissable...

The answer is probably no. It doesn't help that Keith has been fantasizing about Shiro's dimples since he _was_ a teenager.

They make their way towards the town center, aided on the way by many _very_ eager Norixians. Keith and Shiro not quite the only aliens around, but it's clear that word has gotten around about their arrival, and the Norixians are not at all shy about their interest in them.

They get escorted by a loud group of young Norixians, and it takes about a mile for Keith to realize they're all drunk off their blades. They keep giggling and making pointed comments that he doesn't clock at first as suggestive.

It takes Shiro a lot longer to realize it, though when one of them puts one of their wings around Keith's shoulders, Shiro gets the hint quick. He's also not best pleased.

Keith can feel the shift of his mood like electricity in the air. His broad hand tightens around Keith's hip.

“Oh,” the Norixian says, removing their wing. "Pardon. Humans are monogamous?"

“Not as a rule,” Shiro says. His smile is sweet and dangerous. “But _we_ are.”

To the young revelers' credit, they back off. They keep a friendly distance, and they don't touch Keith again. They clearly get the picture.

Keith's pretty happy he's not getting touched by strangers anymore, but he _does_ enjoy the way Shiro's still keeping him close. He's not sure Shiro really notices how handsy he gets when jealous. Keith presses himself closer, and slings an arm around Shiro's hips in return.

The party seems to be in full swing in the town square by the time they arrive. Stalls of all sorts line the edges, selling plenty of alien food and merchandise. Keith eyes a stall advertising a shooting game not unlike the one they played on Clear Day.

“You know what?” he says, pulling Shiro along by the hand. “Maybe you deserve something shiny.”

Shiro laughs as Keith pulls him along. He has to have a spirited discussion with the Norixian at the stall, but they finally concede to taking GAC, and Keith is soon holding a toy gun and shooting little cardboard creatures he couldn't hope to identify. He hopes it's nothing sentient, because he lays waste to them.

Shiro and his little entourage of adoring Norixians whoop whenever he shoots one down.

The owner of the stall doesn't look too happy, if their chittering and fluttering is any indication. They do point at a whole side of plush toys and little trinkets with only a little grumbling.

“Any one of the large ones is yours, Paladin,” they say.

He's not surprised that the Norixian knows who he is. He doesn't say anything. He spends way too long examining the prizes though, as he has no idea what any of them are meant to be.

Shiro presses up behind him, suddenly, his arms wrapping around Keith's shoulders. He leans his head on Keith's, and says, "That one looks kind of like a tribble."

Keith has to tilt his head. The mass of fluff looks as like a tribble as any dust bunny does, he supposes. Its fur is shimmery and pink.

"I guess it is shiny," he declares, and motions for the stall owner to hand it over. The Norixians around him cheer, and Shiro laughs into his ear. It's all a little silly, but worth it.

*

“There will be dancing, but first!”

“First is the Krel-ner Ritual, though!”

“You sound like my brood-parent, Rix.”

“And _you_ sound like a stroppy youngling.”

Keith snorts into Shiro's shoulder. They didn't partake in any of the alien stimulants, not knowing how they'd interact with their biology, but they brought flasks. One tiny sip of Gut Twister has Shiro giggly and flushed. Keith is only on the edge of tipsy, where everything is soft and pleasant and Shiro looks ever more handsome than usual.

The Krel-ner Ritual turns out to involve writing wishes and resolutions on small pieces of paper, folding them, and putting them on a little boat to float in the central fountain.

“This is not so different from back home,” Shiro says, his eyes gone soft. His lashes are long and white, catching the light.

A countdown starts then, all the Norixians chanting at once. Keith backs up from the fountain and meets Shiro's chest against his back. His hands tangle with Shiro's, on his belly, and he leans back, letting himself be held.

Despite how different it all is, how it's not even the Earth New Year's, Keith feels swept in it anyway. He feels the excitement in his belly, wrapped in Shiro's arms, as the countdown goes on around them.

When it reaches one, all the little boats in the fountain catch fire all at once, burning bright blue among the crowd's shouts and cheets.

Keith laughs, and feels Shiro's fingers on his jaw, tipping him to the side and into a kiss.

“I've never been kissed at midnight on New Year's Eve, you know?” he says, against Shiro's mouth. He feels his cheeks flush, but this is Shiro. What's one more vulnerability bared to him?

Shiro's thumb runs the length of his jaw, so gentle.

“I'll kiss you on next New Year's on Earth,” he says, and then kisses Keith again, a gentle peck. “And the next, and the next, and the next...” He punctuates each one with another kiss, and Keith laughs.

"Want to tell me what you wished for?" he asks Shiro, as the Norixians around them start shuffling into pairs and groups. Music stars, something fast with a lot of drums and strings.

Shiro spins him around and dips him, when he pulls him back up Keith can feel his cheeks hot and his hair escaping the braid Shiro helped him put it in this morning.

“I can't tell you,” he says, pulling Keith into the dance. “But I can give you a hint.”

Shiro kisses him, and Keith wraps his arms around his neck and tugs him closer when he tries to pull back. He deepens the kiss, making it far too dirty for a crowd.

It's a new year, after all.

*

Lance is putting on his night cream when his datapad pings.

He squints at it the preview, and slides open the message just in case there's a further explanation. There isn't.

“Allura?” he calls.

She's emerges from the bathroom, looking wonderful in her pink silk gown. Lance can't help but smile up at her, and almost forget what he was going to ask.

“What is it?” she asks, and then picks up his night cream and gives it a sniff. “Oh, this is lovely. Do you mind?”

“Be my guest,” he says. She proceeds to lean over his shoulder and start dabbing some onto her skin. He takes a moment to smile at her dopily, then he frowns again and asks, “Do you have any idea what a Tu'krelix is, and why Keith and Shiro have wished me a happy one seventeen times?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I will not stop with the Star Trek references.


	2. vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Voltron has sleepover on the SS Hestia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie to you guys, this one was a bit of a struggle. I was sick today, and my laptop was getting fixed for most of the day. The prompt was a bit hard for me to wrap my head around, since the entire premise of the 'verse is Shiro being on leave and travelling and I'd _just_ done an alien planet. But! It kind of worked out in the end.
> 
> Onwards!

Kosmo nudges at Shiro’s hand where its hanging off the side of the pilot’s seat. His wet tongue is rough, more like a cat's than a dog’s. Shiro rubs at his eyes, drowsy, then scratches Kosmo’s chin and earns himself a pleased rumbling sound.

“I know, bud,” Shiro says. “Space travel is not all glitz and glamour.”

They're just coming back from a visit on Olkarion. The rebuilding efforts are proceeding at good speed and Keith took the chance to write up a report on it for the Blades. They spoke to Ryner, who had a list of requests for relief and supplies, which went into the report.

Shiro closes his eyes, and leans back against the seat. His hand keeps petting at Kosmo's fur. It's a long way between Olkarion and Daibazaal, and he and Keith have been taking turns at the proverbial wheel.

Shiro hears footsteps behind him, and then thin, strong fingers combing through his hair. He leans into the touch, chasing that hand to kiss.

When he opens his eyes, Keith is leaning over him, two steaming mugs of tea in his free hand. His dark braid hangs over his shoulder and Shiro picks up the end to toy with.

“Good nap?” he asks.

Keith yawns in reply. “Sure. Help me with these.”

They wrestle the two mugs from their precarious balance in Keith’s right hand, and once they have one each (only spilling a _little_ ), Keith turns and settles on Shiro’s lap, legs throw over the armrests, long enough that his feet rest in the other seat.

“Oh, hello,” Shiro says, and then his vision is very briefly impeded by Keith’s dark hair as he settles better against him, his shifting on top of Shiro's thighs rather… distracting.

“Hello,” Keith says. He still sounds a little drowsy, still sleep-warm and soft. Shiro's metal hand supports his back, and the mug occupies the other. He's suddenly glad Keith insisted on cup holders for the cockpit, because it gives him a chance to put it down. He gets his hand on Keith's legs instead, feeling the soft inner thigh covered by cotton PJs.

“Lance says he and Allura have arrived,” Keith mutters, even as his legs trap Shiro’s hand between them. “And Pidge has been giving live updates of her journey. She's three vargas out. Hunk has been harassing the local food market since yesterday. And we—”

“We’re almost there,” Shiro says, and kisses Keith’s flushed, warm cheek.

The great curve of planet Daibazaal raises ahead, whole and beautiful against the black.

*

The Paladins all storm the Hestia together, filling the living room with their loud chatter. The ship looked a little big to Shiro, the first time he saw it. Then it looked not so big when they picked up Kosmo, who occupied a good amount of real estate.

It looks _small_ with all the Paladins hanging from every surface and seat. It’s not a bad feeling—it's nice. It feels cozy, like a home. Allura and Lance are crowded together on an armchair, and Pidge and Hunk have taken possession of the couch, Kosmo sprawled over them across its length. Coran is occupying the last armchair, and the coffee table is littered with strange Galra party foods.

“Is the phrase _Galra party foods_ weird for anyone else?” Lance pipes up, inspecting a bright orange, fried, leaf-looking thing.

“I don’t know if you want to finish that thought,” Shiro says, plopping down on the floor between the couch and the table, leaning back and making space for himself between Hunk and Pidge’s legs.

“Galra cuisine can be very versatile,” Hunk agrees. “Remember Vrepit Sal’s?”

“Under duress,” Pidge says.

Kosmo leans over the seat of the couch because he never knows how to leave Shiro or Keith alone when they’re within reach. He licks the side of Shiro’s face, and Shiro’s not exactly proud of the sound he makes.

The others laugh. Shiro grimaces, and wipes the side of his head. “Thanks, buddy. Love you too.”

“Kosmo, that’s not for licking,” Keith says, coming in and dumping a tray of sandwiches on the table. The Paladins attack it immediately.

“Keith, this is good!” Hunk exclaims.

“Why do you sound surprised?” Keith replies. He grabs two sandwiches and sits between Shiro’s legs, his back against Shiro’s chest. He passes one to Shiro and then grabs the entertainment system’s controls.

“I don’t know, man, you have hidden depths.”

“I never cooked in the Castle because I don’t know what to do with food goo,” Keith grumbles. “I fed myself just fine for years.”

Keith isn’t really annoyed, Shiro can tell. He’s not quite smiling, but there’s a teasing edge to his words. Hunk splutters behind him, and Pidge cackles.

Shiro picks up the end of Keith’s braid and kisses it. It’s still short, only just long enough to brush over his shoulder. He thinks nobody notices it until he meets Lance’s eyes across the table, Allura’s legs hooked over his and her arm around his shoulders. Lance waggles his eyebrows. Shiro rolls his.

“Okay, okay, silence,” Pidge says. “What are we _watching?_ ”

“It will _not_ be Star Trek again!” Lance declares.

“You guys talk like I make you watch it all the time,” Shiro grumbles into his sandwich.

“Once was enough,” Lance says.

“I like Star Trek,” Keith says. “You’ve just not watched the right one for you.”

Shiro feels his heart swell, and he wonders whether it’s entirely healthy to be so in love with somebody that small things like this make you feel like you’re floating away.

He kisses Keith’s cheek, and Lance squawks.

“You’ve corrupted him!”

Keith doesn’t say anything, though he teases Shiro with those same words every damn day. He keeps flicking through his frankly ridiculous film library instead.

“Ooh, you have the Killbot Phantasm movie!” Pidge pipes up, going starry eyed.

“I thought that was meant to be a terrible adaptation,” Hunk says, brow furrowed.

“No, that’s the _live action_ movie, this is the _animated_ movie!”

Keith shrugs. “Everyone down for an animated movie?”

There’s a general consensus, and the movie starts playing. It’s pretty good—not as good as some other animated movies Shiro’s seen, but it’s kind of nostalgic. It’s fast-paced, action-packed, with some basic but well-handled character arcs. It reminds him of old shonen anime he used to watch when he was very little, when his parents were still alive.

It’s not a perfect movie night—no one can shut up, for one. Coran is the worst offender, leaning over every two scenes to whisper, _who’s that?_ , and, _why did they do that?_ and _what happened?_

Allura seems incapable of not shouting at characters when they make choices she disapproves of. Pidge keeps sharing trivia about the production, the Easter eggs in the film, and the wider Killbot Phantasm lore.

Keith’s hand is running up and down Shiro’s thigh and making everything else kind of fade into the background. Meanwhile, Kosmo is still trying to lick him.

By the time the movie’s over, he’s not entirely sure who the bad guys are meant to be.

“That’s the _point_ ,” Pidge cries.

Shiro chalks it up as a lost cause.

*

Keith falls asleep on his shoulder, and Shiro is forbidden from moving again. The entertainment system is silent, but everyone’s still sprawled around their living room, and they don’t look like they’re going to move any time soon.

“This was an excellent idea, Paladins,” Coran says, hanging sideways on his armchair.

“Yeah,” Lance agrees. His head is now pillowed on Allura’s shoulder, and she looks like she's halfway to falling asleep too. “I  _really_ needed the holiday.”

“I think we all needed the holiday,” Hunk says.

“You’re just going to cook _more_ during your holiday!” Pidge says, digging her small feet into Hunk’s thigh. Shiro can feel them kicking at each other behind him.

“Like you’re not looking at stats for your projects _right now_.”

She _is_ looking at her datapad while they talk. Shiro snorts under his breath, and Keith wrinkles his nose and snuggles a little closer.

“Anyway, the only ones who _didn’t_ need a holiday were Shiro and Keith!”

“Hey,” Shiro says, low enough that he won’t wake Keith. “We’ve been taking missions. We need some downtime, too.”

“A holiday from space truckin’?” Lance says, grinning. “Anyway, do you know what none of us have had in ages? A beach day. We should go to the beach tomorrow.”

“We’re seeing Krolia tomorrow,” Shiro reminds him.

“So bring her,” Lance says, easy.

That’s a thought for tomorrow, Shiro decides. He arranges Keith gently so that he can pick him up, and stands gingerly. Keith goes with it, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and hanging on.

“Right,” Shiro says. “I think we’re gonna call it a night. Coran, I’ll show you where all the bedding is in a minute. The couch pulls out, and the armchairs collapse back, if you want to sleep in them.”

Everyone is onboard with the sleepover idea. Shiro can hear the sounds of them all wrestling with his furniture while he steps into the bedroom with Keith.

He lays Keith down gently, and pries his arms from his neck. Keith curls up instinctively, and it probably could have ended there... but Shiro has to linger.

Keith is so warm in sleep. Shiro traces the line of his cheek, and the faint bristles of evening stubble across his jaw. Keith hums low in his throat, and leans into it ever so slightly.

Shiro doesn’t quite let go of him, though he moves to untangling Keith’s braid. The hair tie will inevitably get tangled in his hair and rip strands out—they’ve learned this from many a time Keith’s fallen asleep with it on.

Keith sighs. Shiro doesn’t realize he’s awake until he says, “Lance is breaking my armchair.”

Shiro chuckles, low and soft. “I’m sure he isn’t. I’ll go check in a second.”

“He is,” Keith mutters. He rolls onto his stomach to allow Shiro better access. Shiro wraps the hair tie around his wrist, and soon he’s running his hands through Keith’s unbound hair.

“Wait,” Keith says, before he can rise to go rescue their armchairs. “Kiss me before you go.”

It’s a soft, drowsy kiss, Keith’s lips warm, dry, distracted. Shiro presses one, then another, then another lingering kiss to them. Then he goes.

Everyone settles eventually. Hunk, Lance, and Allura end up curled together on the couch bed, while Pidge and Coran take one armchair each. Everyone’s smothered by Shiro’s many blankets and pillows. He knew they’d come in handy.

And then it’s just him. Padding through the quite spaceship, flicking off lights, checking the locks are engaged, guided back to his room by the soft floor lights. He slides into bed behind Keith, curling up into his warmth.

The wolf is sprawled out beside the couch. All the people he loves are accounted for.

Keith turns into him, kissing the nearest part of him. It turns out to be his chin. Shiro presses his face against Keith’s hair and falls gently into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bunch of you said "don't stop with the Star Trek references!" so I didn't. I've also apparently not stopped coping via fluff.
> 
> I'd also like to take this time to thank you all for the many wonderful comments you've left on this 'verse. You're gems and I'm glad you seem to be enjoying this as much as I do <3


	3. family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How’s our favorite princess?”
> 
> “Which one?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all who keep commenting! You're all keeping me going, because I'm starting to think I was crazy to tell myself I'd write a fic a day. I am a slow writer by nature.
> 
> This one's a bit of a skip ahead in the timeline, and could have possibly fit into the "future" prompt as well. But here we are! Day 3!

They’re woken up in the middle of the night, and for a moment Shiro’s heart is racing and all of his muscles are seizing up.

It’s a lucky thing that in panic he freezes instead of lashing out. A leftover instinct from captivity.

It’s not as bad as it could be—they’ve been waiting for this. Keith’s head shoots up from where it had been resting on Shiro’s shoulder, and Shiro registers every detail of the room in adrenaline-sharp high-definition.

The door to their room is large, a double door, at a different angle to the bed from where Shiro instinctually feels it should be. This is not their room—the bed is wider, the room bigger. Hazy shadows of unfamiliar furniture crowd the walls. A sliver of light from the door illuminates the drapes around the bed. A man casts a shadow in the door's light.

“Is it time?” Keith says, his voice soft and hoarse.

“Just started.” Coran’s unmistakable voice comes from the door. “No need to hurry, it’s bound to go on for some time.”

His voice is gentle, a much lower register than usual. There’s only the slightest hint of worry in it.

“Lance?” Keith asks, already rising. His hand still rests in the middle of Shiro’s chest, fingers spread.

“Oh, about as calm as a trablaz during hunting season!”

Shiro snorts, then sits up himself, dislodging Keith’s hand. “We’ll be right out, Coran.”

Keith tumbles out of bed, the pale, naked line of his back glinting in the low light. Shiro bends over the side of the bed to try to find his pants. He forgets in what general direction he threw them last night while he and Keith were—otherwise occupied.

“Over here,” Keith says, and tosses Shiro his shirt.

“Lights,” Shiro says, and the lights come on, way too bright. “Ugh. Lights to half!”

Keith chuckles from where he’s rummaging through their overnight bags. The kinder half-light illuminates their guest room at the new Castle of Lions.

Keith is pulling on a sweatshirt, zipping it up.

“He said we don’t need to hurry,” Shiro says, still in nothing but his shirt.

“He also said Lance is about to blow, so,” Keith says. He unearths a fresh pair of sweatpants for Shiro, and tosses them over.

“Oh, is that what that meant?”

By the time they get to Allura’s room, there’s a crowd already gathered. Lance is pacing up and down in front of the door. Veronica is listening to his stream of nervous ranting with the long-suffering face of someone’s been made an aunt before.

“What have we missed?” Shiro says, approaching Pidge and Hunk, who are leaning against the wall and yawning.

“Allura kicked him out of the room,” Pidge says.

“Temporarily!” Hunk pipes up.

“She said, and I quote, _I love you, Lance, but you’re making me anxious._ ”

“Anything could happen!” Lance says, turning towards them and pointing. “We don’t know anything about Human-Altean hybrids. Something could happen to her. Something could happen to the _baby._ Oh, God. I think I’m going to hyperventilate.”

“Lance,” Veronica says, getting in his way. “Breathe.”

Keith steps forward, and puts his hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Look, this is Allura. When has she ever not succeeded at something she put her mind to?”

“Yeah, she’s awesome,” Hunk chimes in. “She’ll be fine, man.”

“If she asked Lance to leave,” Shiro says, pointedly avoiding repeating Pidge’s phrasing. “Who’s in there with her?”

“Coran, Lance’s mom, and like, _three_ Altean doctors,” Pidge replies, rubbing at her eyes. “She’s got a whole entourage. It’s fine, Lance. She’ll be fine. The baby will be fine.”

Lance’s father emerges right then, bearing a tray of Altean tea, followed by Krolia. Shiro makes a beeline for him. He can’t say he doesn’t still prefer coffee, but after five years of drinking the stuff, he’s come to appreciate it more and more. And he needs the kick.

“Thank God,” Lance says, to Krolia. “Can you go check?”

“Sure,” Krolia says. She stops to kiss Keith’s forehead. “I know a thing or two about giving birth to a half-alien baby.”

That makes the count on Allura’s childbirth entourage tick up to six. Shiro doesn’t feel particularly obliged to make himself the seventh. He can’t say he’d want an audience for something like that, himself.

He sits down on the ground, back against the wall, and settles in to wait.

It’s a long wait, like Coran expected. Shiro wonders only briefly whether they should have heeded his warning, but then he looks around at the Paladins gathered nervously around Lance. No. They need to be here.

“Lance,” Shiro says. “Come sit here.”

“I don’t think I can sit.”

“I think you should. Come sit and breathe with me.”

It works only partially. Lance keeps asking nervous questions, anxious what-ifs. Veronica debunks them with cold, hard logic. Pidge teases him. Keith tries his best.

Then, finally, the door opens.

Lance’s mom peeks out, her kind, round face softening when she sees her son on the floor.

“Come on up, mijo, let me give you a hug.”

Lance dives into her arms and asks, “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is perfectly fine. Only the regular amount of blood involved.”

“ _What?_ ”

“It’s almost time. She wants you there,” Lance’s mom says, taking him by the hand. “Come on.”

Lance looks back at them, gone suddenly pale. Something like panic steals over his face briefly, before it’s gone, replaced by determination.

“It’s going to be fine,” he asks the room. “Right?”

A chorus of _yeses_ and _absolutelys_ ushers him out and into the room where Allura waits. The door shuts with a soft _click_.

And then there is silence.

Shiro can practically hear the rest of the room sigh, some of the tension gone. Keith takes up the spot next to Shiro that Lance vacated, leaning into his shoulder.

“Good work, team,” Shiro says. Pidge huffs a laugh, slumping to sit on the floor opposite them.

“Now we wait,” she says.

And they do.

Keith makes himself comfortable next to Shiro, his head down to rest against his shoulder. Shiro turns into it, cheek against Keith’s messy hair. He barely had time to tie it back in a hasty bun. Shiro is probably still sporting his white morning stubble.

Pidge and Hunk don’t look any better, still in their PJs and half-asleep.

It’s a long time before anyone says anything. Shiro’s butt is starting to go numb.

“Can you believe Lance is gonna be a dad?” Pidge says. It doesn’t come out snarky this time—only a little quiet. Amazed. “We’re getting _old_.”

Hunk yawns. “He’s going to be a great dad. That little baby won’t know what hit it.”

“The baby with the most aunties and uncles in the world,” Keith says, deadpan. Shiro laughs into his hair.

“It was always a toss up whether it was gonna be them or you guys first,” Pidge says. “Anyway, I’m looking forward to being an aunt many times over.”

“It never does get old,” Veronica says. She’d know. She’s become an aunt five times by this point.

Shiro is still trying to process what Pidge just said.

“Us?”

Pidge blinks up at him, then frowns like he’s being thick.

“Yeah,” she says. “We always thought you and Keith would like—adopt an orphan somewhere. Maybe a whole clan of them.”

“You never thought about it?” Hunk says, with only slightly more tact. “Kids?”

Kids. Shiro can’t help the way he goes a little stiff, because—he hasn’t thought about having kids in a long time. Keith seems to notice, which is worrying only until his hand comes to rest on Shiro’s knee and squeezes.

“We haven’t talked about it,” Keith says. His head is still pillowed on Shiro’s shoulder, cheek a little squished by it. “Honestly, I can’t say I’ve ever thought too much about it either.”

There’s some nuance there, something Keith isn’t quite saying. Shiro doesn’t press him for it, though his heart feels fit to burst out of his chest with wanting to ask, _What do you mean? What do you want?_

Keith takes his hand. The smell of his hair is soothing.

“I used to think about it, before—before,” Shiro says. He doesn’t have to specify _when._ Before the war. Before Kerberos. Before. “I haven’t in a long time, though.”

Having kids had always been a dream for a nebulous _after_. After he came back, after he was grounded, after. An after some part of him had never even thought would come.

He doesn’t know how to fit that vague dream into his life now. His life with Keith.

The door opens, mercifully cutting the conversation short.

“Okay, everyone,” Lance’s mom is on the threshold again. “We’ve got a beautiful, healthy baby girl.”

The sudden, loud outburst of relief and joy is a little dizzying. Shiro finds himself upright without quite meaning to be. Everyone is crowding around Lance’s mom, begging to be admitted.

Keith stops, holding back, looking up at Shiro in sudden, nervous alarm.

“What?” Shiro asks. Keith’s hand hasn’t left his, and so he squeezes it gently.

Keith runs a shaking hand through his hair.

“I’m a mess,” Keith says, looking down at his loose, well-worn sweatshirt. “What’s the baby going to think? Should I go change? I’m going to make a terrible first impression.”

Shiro’s heart feels suddenly too big for his chest. A startled laugh bubbles up from him, and he steps closer to hold Keith’s face in his hands and kiss him.

“I’m sure she’ll love you,” he says, and brushes Keith’s messy hair from his forehead. The rest of the gang is already inside, where Shiro can hear Allura’s tired, satisfied voice.

“How’s our favorite princess?”

“Which one?” Lance says. All anxiety has left his voice, and he sounds warm, a little hoarse. Proud.

“Oh, crap,” Hunk says. “That’s gonna be confusing.”

“Well, _I’m_ fine and _she’s_ fine,” Allura says, laughing a quiet little laugh.

And then there’s the sound—so tiny. A little cry. Then a wail.

“She’s got a pair of lungs on her already,” Keith says. His eyes are bright—a little _too_ bright. His voice is rough and fond. “Shiro—about that thing we were talking about earlier…”

Shiro presses a kiss on his forehead, his hands still cupping Keith’s cheeks gently.

“We can talk about it,” Shiro says. “Whenever you want.”

“Okay,” Keith says. He takes a deep breath, and Shiro can feel him square his shoulders. Ready.

He pulls back and takes Keith’s hand again.

“Now, let’s go welcome her into the family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points to whoever catches the Try Guys reference (of all things!) in this.
> 
> Come talk to me about Allura being surrounded by people who care for her and support her, and her and her daughter having the biggest, most loving family ever.


	4. kosmo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krolia says, “Good luck with him, now. He gets clingy after Keith’s been gone a while.”
> 
> Shiro laughs and says, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
> 
> In hindsight, that had been tempting fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, sorry guys! Clearly I'm way off schedule now. These last three chapters are all going to get written, but I'm slowing down now as holidays are over and there's work to go to every morning now :(
> 
> I've had a bunch of stuff going on with my family these last days of holiday and I was having enough fun writing this chapter that I didn't want to rush. It also ended up being the _longest_ of all of them so far.
> 
> So sorry about the delay! But as a reward... there's sex in this one?
> 
> Prompt is used very loosely. You may have noticed that **rating has gone up to E** for this chapter. Prepare accordingly.

It takes them almost two weeks to reach Daibazaal after they leave Altea, and by then Shiro has kind of gotten used to the purple tea. It definitely gives a stronger boost than coffee, and he finds himself already planning to use it the next time he has to work late when he realizes—that’s over now.

He keeps stumbling on little moments like that, moments when he sits up in faint panic thinking he’s forgotten the Thursday crew meeting, or the Friday meeting with the brass, or that deadline that keeps slipping from his mind… and then he remembers.

It’s a rush, every time. Usually, Keith is within sight to drive the point home further. Sometimes, he’s even close enough to touch, and Shiro can pull him into a kiss. He can feel Keith’s body under his hands and his smile against his mouth.

The inaugural trip of the SS Hestia goes off without a hitch. They arrive at the shipyard just a few vargas from the Blade headquarters, where they’re meant to meet Krolia, Kolivan, and Kosmo.

They need not go that far, apparently. The moment they walk out, there is a flash of brilliant blue light, and Keith lets out a loud, _“Oof!”_

Which is met by excited barking and about a hundred pounds of cosmic wolf pouncing on him and making him stumble back.

It’s a wonder that Keith doesn’t fall back against all that enthusiasm, and it’s just a testament to how deceptively strong he is.

“Hi, boy. I missed you, too,” he says, head tilted to better withstand Kosmo’s excited licking.

Krolia and Kolivan are just past the ramp leading down from the Hestia, looking on in amusement. It’s a bit more obvious on Krolia’s face. It took Shiro a while to be able to decipher the twinkle of mirth in Kolivan's eyes.

Shiro leaves Keith and Kosmo to their reunion, and makes his way down the ramp.

Krolia says, “Good luck with him, now. He gets clingy after Keith’s been gone a while.”

Shiro laughs and says, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

In hindsight, that had been tempting fate.

*

Contrary to popular belief, Shiro has never been a morning person. He doesn’t have any particular feelings towards mornings, really, and he’s been so used to keeping military discipline that waking up early has become a matter of course.

He only really starts liking mornings when his bed in the morning starts to include one Keith Kogane, sleep-soft and languid and very often plastered to Shiro’s body.

He’d missed the simple intimacy of waking up with somebody. And on top of that there’s the particular joy of it being Keith—Keith’s dark lashes sweeping dark over his cheeks, his beloved body draped over him.

He wakes, that morning, with Keith’s leg hooked over his hip, Keith’s nose shoved into the place where his neck meets his jaw. Hot breath fanning over his neck, and little, wicked panting noises in his ear. His leg is trapped between Keith’s warm thighs, and there’s a tell-tale hardness rubbing against it. Keith’s hips hitch, and he lets out a soft cry.

In the haze between sleep and wakefulness, Shiro leans into it, humming low and gravelly in his chest. His hand finds Keith’s thigh, the one still thrown over his hip, and rubs up and to the place where it curves into Keith’s ass.

Keith snuffles into his ear again, and then he gasps.

“Morning,” Shiro mutters, more of a statement than a greeting. Keith hums into his ear, a very explicit, _I heard you, and same_ , that doesn’t quite make it into words. Shiro has made learning Keith’s non-verbal morning noises his life’s mission.

Shiro’s eyes are only half-open, just enough to see Keith’s eyelids flutter, and his nose scrunch up. His lashes part to offer a sliver of dark eyes—Keith squints at him, his mouth swollen and red with sleep. He nudges Shiro’s nose with his, and plants a clumsy kiss on Shiro’s mouth.

Another roll of Keith’s hips, eager and seeking. Shiro smiles, and closes his eyes again. He traces a path up Keith’s jaw with his lips, ducking his face into Keith’s neck. Breathing in.

He shoves Keith’s underwear halfway down, getting his bare hand on Keith’s ass and squeezing. He encourages the rolling motion of Keith’s hips. They slot with Shiro’s, and make him gasp and bite down on the soft skin under his mouth. His thigh is wet where Keith’s cock is pressing insistently, leaking precome.

Keith’s fingers tangle in his hair, pressing him closer against his neck. Shiro obliges the silent request with sloppy kisses, with a firm press of his thigh against Keith’s cock.

“Baby,” he groans, unselfconscious in the haze of sleep and desire.

“Please,” Keith gasps. His voice is low and rough and delicious. Shiro hums and presses closer.

There is a flash of blue light, and Shiro barely has the time to think, _oh, shit._ Then the wolf appears, right on top of the covers, and Shiro can’t suppress a shout.

Keith, startled in turn, flails and almost hits Shiro in the nose. Like his nose really needs any further injury.

Kosmo is looking at them innocently, doggy smile and lolling tongue. He licks Keith’s face and makes himself comfortable.

Keith groans. “Fuck.”

Shiro stares at the ceiling for a long time. The moment is well and truly ruined.

“Hey,” Keith says, at length. “We have _coffee_ now.”

That lifts Shiro’s spirits a little, as Keith scrambles out of bed, pulling up his underwear as he goes.

He pauses only to look back at Shiro over his shoulder and smile.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says. There’s enough heat in his voice to make Shiro want to make good on that right now. But Kosmo licks _his_ face, and then trots out after Keith.

Shiro flops down on the bed. Well. These things happen.

At this point he still thinks it’s a one-time thing.

*

Kosmo sticks close to Keith’s side all through breakfast, and getting ready for the day, and pre-flight preparations. He seems pretty happy to see Shiro too, in his defense, lying down on Shiro’s lap while he goes through their inventory on the couch. Shiro handles his datapad with one hand, and delivers vigorous scritches with the other. Kosmo makes pleased huffing sounds into his hip.

Kosmo also insists on being in the cockpit with them. This is going to be a problem if Kosmo gets any bigger—it’s a pretty tight fit as it is. The cockpit isn’t very spacious. He tracks Keith with his eyes as they go through pre-flight checks, and then lies his head on Keith’s armrest when they take off.

They’re in for a long one, this time—about a phoeb into deep space before the next inhabited system, though they’ve stock enough to get them through a few extra phoebs. Just in case.

Space is unpredictable, but Shiro learned almost immediately, on the way to Kerberos, that there is also a lot of empty time in space.

The ship is high-tech enough that they don’t necessarily need to be in the cockpit at all times. They take turns, sometimes, and sometimes hang out in the pilot seats together, projecting movies and video games on their datapads. Shiro downloaded about every possible sci-fi novel he’d missed in the long years since he’d last been on Earth onto his datapad, and is slowly making his way through them.

They live. It’s nice.

They also finally breached the sexual tension that has been hovering between them for years only a week and a half ago. Two weeks. Give or take.

Shiro is still, always, overwhelmed with the realization that he can touch Keith, that he’ll be met with sweet enthusiasm if he does. It’s strange to think he’d already been getting used to that amount of regular sex, because now, only a few hours into their journey into space, he’s craving it again.

They’re on the couch, and as much as Shiro loves watching Star Trek with Keith, there is an itch under his skin—Keith’s body is warm and firm against his. He’s leaning against Shiro’s shoulder, an arm slung over his hips. He can smell Keith’s hair, feel his chest move with his breath. He slips a hand under Keith’s shirt—easy. Casual. Keith’s skin is satin-soft and hot. He always runs so hot.

Keith lets out a soft hum and shifts closer. Shiro thinks long and hard about taking Keith’s hand—the one resting just by his hip—and bringing it down. Pressing it against where Shiro wants him, where's already chubbing up with the thought.

He turns into Keith’s hair, inhaling deeply and pressing a firm kiss to it. Nuzzling a little and scratching very lightly across Keith’s ribcage. He feels the minute shiver running through Keith’s body.

Keith’s mouth curls into a barely-there smile.

“Something tells me you’re not paying attention,” Keith says. “Either that, or Andorians get you hot.”

Shiro snorts, laughter bubbling up. That may be one of his favorite things about sex with Keith—the laughter.

“Mmmh, yeah, it’s the antennae,” Shiro replies, digging his fingers into Keith’s side and making him squirm.

Keith turns his head and noses up Shiro’s neck, then bites playfully at his jaw. Shiro turns around and jerks Keith closer, catching Keith’s mouth in a kiss.

Keith’s hand, the one around Shiro’s hip that had been driving him to distraction, shifts. Instead of going down, it goes up. It takes a handful of Shiro’s chest, and makes him laugh into the kiss.

Keith hums, and takes the chance to slip his tongue into Shiro’s mouth, turning the kiss dirty and wet.

There’s nothing quite like making out on the couch, sloppy and eager like they’re teenagers again. Keith climbs into his lap, still groping Shiro’s chest enthusiastically. Shiro returns the favor with a thorough exploration of Keith's thighs, palms splayed along the soft curves of them, and slipping up under the hem of his shorts.

Keith’s mouth is hot and insistent, his tongue licking into Shiro’s mouth, a little artless, but so good. As good as it is, Shiro has been up and ready to go since this morning—so to speak—and he wastes no time pressing his palm against Keith’s cock, making him gasp.

Having Keith squirming and panting in his lap is really doing it for Shiro too, and he’s getting ready to act on his earlier plan—grabbing Keith’s hand and pressing it eloquently to his own cock—when there’s a flash of blue light.

Shiro freezes. Keith stumbles back and ends up being knocked sideways and into the couch by the enthusiastic space wolf.

Two could still be a coincidence.

*

Three, however, is a pattern. Four is pretty much a sure thing.

The third time happens almost immediately thereafter. Kosmo sticks close to them through the rest of the episode, and falls asleep on the couch. Keith and Shiro manage to extract themselves and sneak into the kitchen.

Shiro presses Keith back against the counter, not even waiting for him to turn around. He pulls Keith back against his chest, grinds against his ass. Keith’s head tilts back to rest against his shoulder, baring a long expanse of neck.

“Wow,” he says, a little laughter in his voice. Shiro nips at his neck, and makes him squirm a little. “Eager?”

“I want you,” Shiro says. He doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, how low and obvious it’s become. Keith gasps. He turns his head so he can pull Shiro into a kiss by the hair.

It’s just starting to get serious—Keith is biting his bottom lip, panting and flushed and grinding back against Shiro, when a displeased huff and bark comes from the living room.

Keith stills against him. They stay there until the wolf trots into the kitchen, its tongue lolling out, smiling innocently.

“He just wants to be with us,” Keith says. He sounds frustrated, but like he’s trying to reign it in. “He’s not doing it on purpose.”

“Of course not,” Shiro says. His hands are now resting on Keith’s belly. He kisses Keith’s shoulder, undemanding.

His dick’s not really happy about it, and yeah, it really sucks. Especially because he can feel Keith tense against him, and how frustrated he is. But he’s not about to get mad at the _wolf._

“I guess it’s about time for dinner,” Keith says. His tone is positively funereal.

The fourth time is barely even an attempt. They’re in bed, and Shiro is thinking about turning around and kissing Keith. The wolf hops up on the bed, lying over their feet and curling up there.  Keith turns around and gives him a tight smile. His hand comes up to Shiro’s jaw, holding him gently and pressing in for a lingering kiss. Shiro pulls him in, and with the weight of the wolf warming their feet it’s easy to fall asleep. It’s nice.

It’s also clearly the last straw.

*

It’s frustrating, but Shiro tries to be patient. It’s not like it’ll always be like this—he remembers in the first months after he’d come back from the dead, Kosmo had no problem staying where Keith wasn’t. True, at the time he’d had other people to distract him, but Shiro has to be optimistic.

The thought of never getting to touch Keith again would drive him insane, otherwise.

They just have to wait it out, he thinks, the next evening. His hair is still a little damp from his shower, and he stares down at his very few clothing options pensively.

The door slides open, and Shiro turns to see Keith in the door, back from his turn in the bathroom. His hair is wet and slicked back, highlighting the cut of his cheekbones, the elegant line of his jaw. And just like Shiro, he’s in nothing but a towel. His eyes are dark, and traveling down Shiro’s back. Down, down, down, then lingering.

Shiro’s breath hitches at the naked hunger there. Keith’s face hides nothing. Has he always looked at Shiro with such longing on his face? Shiro doesn’t think so. The mere sight has every nerve in his body firing, oversensitive. He’d have caught fire long ago, if Keith had been looking at him like that all along. Keith’s always been very good at hiding his thoughts.

He’s not hiding anything now. Their eyes meet. Shiro can see the moment Keith finally snaps.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, and lets the door slide closed behind him. “Lock door,” he orders.

And then he’s stalking towards Shiro with purpose. Two steps and he’s up against Shiro’s body, hands sliding up Shiro’s chest and then taking hold of his shoulders. Pulling him down and into a fierce kiss.

Shiro’s hands reach for Keith automatically. They slide up his sides, feeling smooth skin, firm muscle, and scars. Then they sweep back down to the small of Keith’s back and trace the dimples there. He slips under Keith’s towel just as Keith slips into his mouth, his tongue staking claim.

Suddenly the floor is gone from under Shiro and he finds himself shoved back into bed. He blinks up at Keith, bare and golden and glowing in the light.

Keith smiles down at him, a wicked little smile, and Shiro’s heart skips a beat. It starts thundering again when Keith goes to his knees.

He looks uncertain for a moment. His hands rest lightly on Shiro’s thighs, tracing mindless patters.

“Can I—”

“Y-yeah,” Shiro says, cutting him off in his eagerness. He can feel himself flush all over. “Uhm—Sorry. Yes. You’re welcome to.”

Keith’s gone lovely red too, and he ducks his head and huffs a little nervous laugh. “I’ve just—been thinking about it.”

“Oh?” Shiro’s voice goes higher than he expected it to, and he clears his throat. “How long?”

Keith turns just so, his face still hidden against his hand, which is against Shiro’s thigh. The proximity of his mouth to its intended target is electrifying. So is the little smile he gives Shiro, a little shy, a little suggestive.

“You’re—very handsome,” Keith says, Shiro raises his eyebrows eloquently. “Shut up. You are. And I’ve always—” he hesitates, though the way his eyes flicker up, to where Shiro is already hard for him, is pretty eloquent. Keith ends it with a soft, “I’ve always wanted to.”

The thought of Keith looking at him and wanting him, wanting to go to his _knees_ is… a heady, dangerous thing. Shiro’s brain stutters over it, and he opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

He reaches out instead, to make up for it, running careful fingers along the soft curve of Keith’s cheek, his thumb tracing that mouth. And he hopes Keith gets it, gets how he runs Shiro through every time, strips him down to nothing but love and need.

Keith smiles like he gets it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says. It’s hoarse, a little broken. Keith’s grin goes wicked again.

Shiro’s towel has been hanging on for dear life, but Keith does away with it quickly, and the way he looks down at Shiro’s cock is—

It twitches under Keith’s hand, when he gives it a slow, languid pull. Keith’s had his hands on Shiro’s dick _many_ times in the past two weeks, though it has yet to lose its shine. Shiro’s hips hitch a little, and then—he loses all his breath in a rush, because Keith bends down and licks a tentative stripe up his cock.

It’s just a flash of pink tongue, and then Keith pulls back and looks at it, as if considering the taste. It’s both cute and distractingly, oddly hot.

And then Keith goes back for more, always undaunted, his tongue tracing a broader, more confident stripe up, and then around the head. He suckles there, and Shiro has to fight to keep his hips still. His hand is still on Keith’s cheek, and his thumb comes up to feel Keith’s lips, already shiny and red. Keith chases it, biting down playfully.

Shiro is a goner.

Keith’s a fast learner—he figures out what makes Shiro gasp, and twitch, and moan. His hands aren’t still—they run up Shiro’s chest, and down his thighs, like he has to keep touching as much of Shiro as he can. Shiro tries to provide instruction, but he’s never been very—verbal, when getting head. He gets lost in it a little.

His hand stays by Keith though. Gentle, carding through Keith’s hair, scratching his scalp gently.

“You’re so good to me, sweetheart,” Shiro says. It trips off his tongue. He can’t help it.

Keith makes a muffled sound around his mouthful, and looks up at Shiro through his dark lashes, eyes bright and intent.

That is the exact moment Shiro sees a familiar flash of light.

He can’t help but let out a cry of dismay, because—God. _God._

Keith startles back, and pulls off, and Shiro watches him go mournfully—with his red cheeks, messy hair, and shiny, puffy mouth, just begging to be kissed and kissed.

But Keith doesn’t pull away completely. His hands dig into Shiro’s inner thighs, making him squirm, and then he looks over his shoulder at the wolf at the end of the room and he—he _growls._

It comes low from his chest, and it’s not a human sound. Kosmo gets the hint quick, and vanishes in another flash of light.

“Oh my God,” Shiro says.

“Huh,” Keith says. His hold has slackened somewhat, and he’s staring back at the empty, closed door with wide eyes. “I can’t believe that _worked._ ”

Shiro says, “I think you should fuck me.”

Keith’s whips around, and he gapes at Shiro. Then he clears his throat and says,  “Yeah! Yeah, sure.”

He looks a little dazed, wide-eyed, and Shiro clarifies, “If you want to.”

Keith goes bright red and says, “What part of _you’re really handsome and I’ve had fantasies about you_ made you think I _wouldn’t?_ ”

He can tell Keith’s flustered—it makes him smile and reach for Keith’s hand where it’s still resting on his thigh. Keith is still between his legs, and Shiro draws him a little closer.

Keith’s looks down at their joined hands, and runs his other palm up Shiro’s thigh again. “I uh—I’ve never done _that_ before.”

Shiro smiles at him, then draws his hand in to kiss. “That’s okay. I’ll be with you the entire time.”

Keith snorts. “Well, I sure hope you’re not planning on going anywhere while I’m trying to fuck you.”

Shiro laughs, head thrown back, and when he looks back, Keith’s eyes are shining again.

“Logistically speaking, that’d be awkward, I agree,” he says, and sends the bionic arm to find the lube.

He pulls Keith up on the bed with him, to kneel between his thighs.

“So that really did it for you? The growling?”

Shiro groans. “Look. You could probably do anything and I’d think it’s hot.”

Keith laughs, and looks a little embarrassed, a little awed. He always looks faintly surprised at that—Shiro wanting him.

“Okay, the Alpha wolf routine did it for me a little. Maybe.” Shiro admits. Keith laughs again, happy and startled.

Keith is hesitant, at first, his hands shaking. Shiro steadies them with his own, and guides his fingers right where he wants them. They’re slender, dexterous, long. They’re not as thick as Shiro’s, but they have reach, and once Keith gets the hang of it, he really _does._

Shiro groans when Keith finds his prostate for the first time, and earns himself a pleased, smug grin.

“Alright, hotshot,” he says, and kisses Keith’s smile. Keith’s eager and enthusiastic with it, kissing Shiro hard.

Shiro realizes, with the first long push of Keith’s cock inside him, that he _really_ missed this. It’s been— _God_ , a good long while. And then he realizes he can _have_ this again, can have Keith, any number of ways. And then Keith finds his feet, and pulls back, and snaps his hips. And Shiro stops thinking at all.

He feels Keith’s body on top of his, between his thighs, the press and drag of him inside—he watches the look of concentration on his face, the way his hair starts sticking to his temple and his eyes go dark. The same bright intensity is in Keith's eyes that wears when he flies, and his mouth is still bitten red and swollen from Shiro’s kisses and Shiro’s cock. It all makes him dizzy, makes his skin feel sensitive all over.

Overwhelmed with it now, he can barely believe there was a time he wasn’t able to feel anything at all.

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith says, panting right into Shiro’s mouth. Shiro’s hands pull at his hair and he whines. His hands tighten on Shiro’s thighs, thumbs digging into the soft inner thigh. “Shiro. _Shiro._ ”

Keith, screaming his name, long ago, pulling his very consciousness out of nothing. Keith calling his name now, as he comes.

He trembles on top of Shiro for a long moment, then reaches for Shiro's cock with unsteady hands.

“Baby,” Shiro says, both hands in Keith’s hair, brushing it back from his forehead. “It’s okay.”

Keith shakes his head, and the steady movement of his hand makes Shiro gasp again.

“I still want to—” Keith starts, and then thinks better of it and _does it_ instead.

That’s Keith. He’s a man of action.

He slips out of Shiro carefully, then kisses down his chest, until he’s swallowing Shiro down again. With the sight of him there between Shiro’s legs, dark hair, dark lashes, and red mouth full, it doesn’t take Shiro very long to come, shuddering, between them.

After, Keith lying on top of him still as they catch their breath, Shiro says, “Good work, team.”

Keith lets out a wild, ungraceful, half-snorting laugh. “ _Stop_.”

“We never gave up. We pursued our goals. And we overcame! We came out on _top!_ ”

“Well, I came on top, I don’t know about _you._ ”

Shiro swats his ass, then gentles his touch as he takes a handful. “Insubordinate.”

“You know it,” Keith says, and presses a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw.

When they’ve cleaned up and opened the door, Kosmo is on the couch, and he perks up in seeing Keith in the doorway.

“Well?” Keith calls out to him. “Time for bed.”

Kosmo trots towards him enthusiastically, and sneaks past him to hop on the bed and snuggle up by Shiro’s feet. He doesn’t seem any less cheerful for the earlier ordeal.

“He’s a good boy,” Shiro says, looking right at Kosmo, even as he lets Keith back into his arms.

Kosmo huffs at his feet.

"That he is," Keith agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this me taking this prompt as an excuse to write sex scenes? Maybe.
> 
> How funny is it that I kept being interrupted from writing about Shiro and Keith having sex, when this fic is entirely about them getting cockblocked? Life imitates art.
> 
> Please forgive any typos, these are all only lightly edited.


	5. past & future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Paladins gather for the first anniversary of the end of the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took very long! I apologise. The truth is that I am a very slow writer, and kind of struggled balancing going back to work with writing on a schedule. This is why I don't do serial fics much.
> 
> You also may have noticed the chapter count has gone down to five. This is for two reasons. One, the past & future prompts ended up a little shorter than expected, so they ended up condensed into this one chapter. Two, the idea I had for the 'free day' prompt spiralled wildly out of control and just _had_ to become its own thing. However, I have a few things I want to do before I tackle that, so it might be a good while.
> 
> Finally, this takes place about two months after Keith and Shiro leave with the Hestia (it's the reunion mentioned at the beginning of _the voice from the stars_ ). I'm considering reshuffling the chapters in some sort of chrono/narrative order.
> 
> Oh, and I guess there's underage drinking in this? I'm European so this continues to confuse me.

For a long moment, racing across the desert, the wind in his air and red sand blowing up in clouds behind him, Keith feels like a teenager again.

The hoverbike is a familiar weight and purr between his thighs. The landscape, the plains and cliffs and valleys, the bright blue sky… it’s home.

It’s good to be home.

Little things break the fiction, like his braid tucked into the collar of his jacket. Like Shiro’s thighs tucked behind his on the hoverbike. Shiro’s broad chest is pressed to Keith’s back, his left arm wrapped around Keith’s waist, palm splayed wide and warm. His robot arm clutches Keith’s thigh.

He can hear Shiro’s laugh over the sound of the wind. That’s the one constant. Tying past and present.

That, too, is home.

He sees the drop coming up ahead, and feels a grin steal over his lips. Both of Shiro’s hands tighten around him in anticipation.

Shiro leans over, and shouts, “ _Ready?”_

Despite the rush of the wind in his ear, Keith can feel the excitement and confidence, and iron-clad belief in Shiro’s voice. No fear.

Shiro pats Keith’s thigh twice. Friendly and excited. _Let’s go._

Keith floors it.

It’s just like Shiro said, all those years ago. Not too fast, not too slow. A knife’s edge on which Keith has to balance so he doesn’t hurtle them both to their deaths.

After all these years, it’s almost easy. The gut-feeling of it is almost more reliable than rational thought.

It’s like the world slows down. Everything, the entire universe reduced to the swoop of his stomach, and the edge coming at him fast. The wind, Shiro’s joyous shout in his ear, the ground giving way under them.

The long, long, long, long drop into nothing.

Shiro whoops and cheers, his hands and arms a vice grip around him. Keith’s laughter feels lost in the rush of wind, and the blood pumping hard in his ears, but he can feel it in his chest. His heart and lungs jump in his throat, his stomach somersaulting with the sudden jerk and rise of the hoverbike as he pulls it up at the very last minute. Perfectly poised on that knife’s edge.

The hoverbike shoots off, stabilizing again, and he and Shiro are once again racing across the desert. Every nerve ending in Keith’s body is buzzing, his hands tingling, his throat sore from shouting. He takes big, heaving breaths and lets out a last, breathless laugh. There is a long expanse of nothing ahead, and Keith takes the chance to turn around to catch a glimpse of Shiro’s wide smile, his flushed cheeks.

“How’s that?” he yells.

Shiro laughs, and then the hand splayed on Keith’s stomach slides down over his other thigh. Both hands squeeze, making his stomach flip again, another small jump into the void.

“Alright, hotshot,” Shiro yells back. “Find us a good view.”

When he steps off the bike, his lungs are still burning, and his breath is still labored, and everything in him is still alight. He turns around just to catch the way Shiro’s sitting, still astride the hoverbike.

The dying light of the sun catches his white hair, making him glow. His arms are crossed over his chest, his legs spread and propping him up against the footrest. It’s the kind of effortlessly handsome, charming look that used to make Keith sweat as a teenager.

Maybe the past tense is a lie.

Shiro’s eyes on him are—Keith has no words for it yet. Soft. Shining. Too full. He smiles a soft, close-lipped smile at Keith. Like Keith’s doing something amazing, and not just standing there, his hair a rat’s nest from the drive.

He’s not quite come down from the rush, yet, and the feeling ballooning in his chest is not doing anything to calm his racing heart.

Keith takes a step towards him. Then another. Shiro doesn’t say anything, but his smile widens, going a little knowing. His knees part for Keith as he hops back up on the bike and stands between them.

Shiro hovers above him, bathed in light, his hair in his eyes. Keith is suddenly frantic with it, adrenaline still hurrying his breath. Shiro’s wide palms are splayed on his hips. Keith runs his hands up to Shiro’s shoulders and finds himself pulled close between Shiro’s legs.

He suddenly, wildly, thinks about those joyrides in the desert with Shiro, all that time ago. Looking at Shiro, with his flushed cheeks and flyaway dark hair, and his boyish smile.

And then Shiro is kissing him, and Keith’s not thinking about the boy he was anymore, the boy who looked at Shiro and wanted. He’s the man who kisses Shiro back.

Shiro’s hands are not on his hips anymore, but have made their way back, squeezing. It makes Keith gasp into the kiss, granting his tongue access. Shiro sweeps in, deepening the kiss, making it wet, and earnest, and good.

Keith loses track of time. His hands are gripping Shiro’s shoulders, sliding into his hair, mapping the dip between his shoulder blades. He’s all but climbing Shiro where he perches on the passenger seat of the hoverbike.

When Shiro pulls away, dragging his hungry mouth across Keith’s jaw, Keith finds himself gasping, half kneeling on the front seat of the bike and arching up towards Shiro.

Shiro’s mouth finds the place his jaw meets his neck, soft and vulnerable, and sucks a hard kiss there. Keith keeps making these awful, needy sounds, and he just can’t seem to stop.

“Are you just— _oh_ —just gonna have your way with me out here?”

He can feel Shiro’s teeth against his neck when he smiles.

“Will you let me?”

“Maybe I’m not that kind of girl,” Keith says, breathless, even though he is.

Shiro laughs, something low and deep and delicious. Against Keith’s ear, he says, “Maybe, for me, you are.”

Keith shivers, and laughs, and pulls back to look at Shiro.

“Are you calling me easy?”

Shiro doesn’t say anything, just looks at him with a wicked, mischievous smile, and raises an eyebrow.

Keith snorts, and kisses him again. Shiro’s smile doesn’t abate for a moment, the curve of his mouth pressing against Keith’s, and then going soft.

Keith is a liar. He _is_ easy for it. For Shiro. He sighs into the kiss, feeling his whole body melt and give way, liquid and languid. Shiro’s arms are a solid weight around him, his big hands running up and down his back and making him squirm. He kisses Keith slow, deep, like they have all the time in the world.

After a long moment, just melting in Shiro’s arms, Keith pulls back ever so slightly. His eyes flit across Shiro’s face, so close he can map the smile lines at the corners of his eyes. Shiro looks back at him with that look again—soft and awed. Keith brushes his hair out of his eyes.

“Are you happy?” Keith finds himself asking, close to Shiro’s red mouth.

Shiro’s smile is a slow, devastating thing.

“I’m so happy sometimes I think I must be asleep,” he whispers. His nose nudges Keith’s, soft and fond.

They make out, sloppy and eager, on top of the hoverbike. It makes Keith feel his age—young and drunk on love. There is only the niggling feeling at the back of his mind, the light going down behind his closed lids as he arches into Shiro’s hands.

“The sun’s going down,” Keith gasps, nails scratching at Shiro’s shoulders. “We’ll be late.”

Shiro bites at his jaw. “Then let’s be late.”

*

By the time the moon is high in the sky, everyone is most of the way to drunk.

“I don’t think Pidge is old enough to drink,” Lance observes.

Pidge knocks back a shot of nunvill and looks him straight in the eye without flinching.

Keith hums. He lists to the side under the weight of his thoughts. His head, coming to rest on Shiro’s shoulder, is a gift. He says, “What quadrant’s drinking laws are we talking about here?”

“ _This_ quadrant!”

“I’m eighteen in three months, old man, so shut up.”

“Old _man_!” Lance cries. Allura giggles into his shoulder. “I’m twenty years old!”

Shiro, whose head is pleasantly light and full of cotton, says, “Yeah, that doesn’t feel too good, does it?”

Lance looks at him with this wild, betrayed look in his eyes. Shiro dissolves into giggles, Keith’s head lolling off his shoulder, shaken off by Shiro’s laughter.

It’s the one-year anniversary of the end of the war. It took a lot for them all to make it here at the same time, but they made it in the end.

The bonfire was already lit by the time Shiro and Keith arrived the shack in the desert.

“Back to the place it all started, right?” Hunk said, smiling, when he first suggested it. There had been a brief moment when they’d thought about doing it in front of the statue of Voltron, on Altea.

But this feels better. It feels right.

Lance and Pidge had shouted and jeered when Shiro and Keith arrived late, Keith’s neck obviously marked, Shiro’s smile obviously dopey and fucked-out.

Shiro can’t regret it. Keith was so sweet under his hands, his red mouth wet and parted and giving way to Shiro’s tongue. His hands clawing at Shiro’s arms and his hips rocking into Shiro’s hands. He’d looked just so good, his eyes closed, his cheeks flushed, his head tipped back. That short braid curling at the base of his neck.

 Said braid is now coming undone all over the place, strands of dark hair slipping and coming to frame Keith’s cheeks in untidy puffs.

“Keith!” Allura cries. She climbs over Hunk’s lap to make her way to Keith’s side. Hunk yelps when she accidentally knees him in the side.

“Let me fix it,” Allura says, reaching grabby hands towards Keith’s hair.

It’s still a little short to do this—the layers mean there are always going to be a few strands falling around Keith’s cheeks. Allura taught them how to braid the first section of the braid higher on Keith’s head to make the most of its length.

“Like a French braid?” Lance said, and Allura had squinted at him and said, “What’s a French?”

Shiro, who knew perfectly well that Allura now had a vague enough grasp of Earth geography to know about France, had suppressed a laugh. Allura caught his eye and he could see the amusement hidden in her eyes as well.

Allura, still half in Hunk’s lap, reaches for Keith. Keith shies away and against Shiro.

“Hair’s _fine_ ,” he says.

“It’s _not_ ,” Allura replies.

She’s right, in a way—the braid _is_ falling apart. Shiro still thinks it’s cute, but he’s admittedly partial.

“ _Fine,_ ” Keith says. “I want Shiro to do it.”

Allura protests loudly, but finally allows Shiro to do it—under strict supervision. Shiro saw her do it for Keith earlier, but his fingers still feel clumsy on the silky strands of Keith’s hair. It slips from his grasp, and he seems unable to gather even locks to braid.

“This one’s empty,” Lance says, peering into the bottle of nunvill. “Coran!”

“I should have _oooone_ more,” Coran says, already digging through his bag.

Keith’s new braid is nowhere near as neat as the previous one, but Shiro thinks it’s pretty good for a first effort. Allura pats his hand.

“You’ll get better with practice,” she says.

Keith turns around and tucks his face into Shiro’s neck. “I love it.”

That cheers Shiro up somewhat. Coran makes a triumphant noise as he unearths one last half-bottle of liquor. It’s not that much, but he declares confidently, “I think we have time for one more toast!”

They’ve made _many_ toasts tonight. Shiro’s limbs are pleasantly loose, and his heart is so full, but the toasts had made him feel a little fragile.

They’d gathered around the bonfire, first thing, and passed around several Tupperwares full of Hunk’s cooking. Shiro hadn’t quite realized how much he’d missed it until he had his mouth full of casserole , unable to keep himself from making an obscene sound.

And then Coran had broken out the alcohol.

“How come every time I hang out with you, now,” Shiro asked, “you try to get me drunk?”

Coran had sniffed with much dignity. “That, my dear Paladin, is because I’m the life of the party.”

He’d brought a variety of drinks, enough for several rounds for everyone. Nunvill seems to be strong enough to get Keith at least tipsy, though it’s not quite as potent as the infamous Gut Twister.

Coran passed the drinks around. Then they’d all gone quiet and looked to Allura to do the honours.

She was silent for a long moment, looking into her flask with a faint, faraway smile in her face.

“It’s been a year. I can’t decide whether it feels like the war ended yesterday,” she started. “Or if it feels like an age. Some days I wake up, and I think we’re still in the old Castle, and I’ll wake up and come find you all in the kitchen, and we’ll go run drills.”

The Paladins laughed. Allura smiled at them. “And then I wake up, and I look around.” She turned to Lance, her smile going a little softer. “And I’m—I’m so grateful. I’m so grateful to be here with you all.”

Keith’s hand found Shiro’s, and squeezed. They exchanged a glance, and Shiro saw the bright wet sheen to Keith’s eyes.

“So I’d like us to make a toast,” Allura said, wiping surreptitiously at her eyes. She raised her flask. “To those who can’t be with us today.”

She turned to Shiro expectantly, and he took a deep breath.

There was so much he could have said. So many faces crowding in his brain. So many people lost forever in the arena. But he didn’t want to wallow in guilt just then.

He followed Allura’s example, instead, and spoke from a place of gratitude. “To Ulaz.”

He felt Keith shift next to him, and his hand squeezed Shiro’s again.

“To Thace,” Keith said. “And Antok, and Regris.”

There were too many names. To the Olkari, the Balmerans, the Earth pilots who lost their lives in the first wave. To Romelle’s people.

It finally returned back to Allura, who just said, “To Altea.” And they’d all known she was not talking about current Altea, which was whole and healing.

By the time they were done, they were all somber, looking at each other.

Then Pidge shattered the mood. “And now I’d like to toast to the  people who are missing this party just because they’re lame. To Matthew Holt, who isn’t invited because of what he did to his hair.”

The other took the out gratefully, tension seeping out of them with their laughter. Lance immediately nominated Veronica, in the same spirit, which led to them toasting to all of the absent MFE pilots.

“This is a cool kids party only,” Lance declared.

“The fact that you called it that just killed any coolness it may have had,” Keith said.

They took a drink for each name, this time. Their parents. The Blades. Romelle. Iverson. Kosmo. _Slav_.

“Thank God,” Shiro said, taking an enthusiastic swig. Keith, whose cheeks had started to go pink, snorted into his shoulder.

Then it devolved completely, with Hunk declaring, “To you guys! I love you guys,” and taking a drink. So they had a toast for each member of Team Voltron, and then for Kosmo again, because they loved him too, and then for their parents again, for the same reason.

To food goo. To Earth food. To Earth skincare products. To Olkari tech. To robots. To space.

And now, many, _many_ toasts later, Keith leans back into Shiro’s chest with his messy, re-done braid, and Coran looks around, rubbing his chin.

“One last toast, then?” he asks. “To what?”

They look at each other, their faces lit up by the bonfire. Shiro watches the way the warm, flickering light plays on the other Paladins’s face. Keith is solid and warmagainst him, and even as he feels a pang of nostalgia—that they’ll split up again, after this—he realizes that there is no dread in his heart. They’ll see each other again.

And after this, he gets to go home to the Hestia, with Keith.

“To another year,” Shiro says, low enough that he almost expects the others not to hear.

But they smile, the fire dancing in their eyes.

“To another year,” they say back to him, and drink to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are for now!
> 
> I just want to thank everyone so much for the support you've shown this series. I absolutely was not expecting it, and I've had such a blast since I posted this. My life on twitter has gotten much more lively, and I've gotten to interact with such talented, lovely people (pretty much anybody I've talked to on twitter since I posted--this is about you!) and it's been amazing!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented so far on this and the previous fic (and those of you who commented multiple times?? legends). 
> 
> You can find the last chapter on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/seagreen_eyes/status/1087462436297474048).
> 
> Love you all and see you next time <3

**Author's Note:**

> No, I will not stop with the Star Trek references.


End file.
